Sunny woke up wishing that he hadn't.
It turned out that earning a little over five thousand Shadow Fragments at the same time was a painful experience. Worth it still—his fourth core would prove invaluable.
He gave a thankful nod to Saint and got up, ready to face whatever remained after his little scheme. He needn't have worried. The scene of devastation in front of him was a ghastly sight, even to someone as used to carnage as he was.
Two weeks before, while climbing up a mountain, he had spotted a particularly interesting chasm. What was so interesting about it? The fact that it was a breeding ground of nightmare creatures. The Brood had a few Awakened Tyrants among their ranks; he had found that out in his first month of staying within the Tears—the name he had given to the region due to the endless rain—and had been sorely disappointed.
[You have slain an Awakened Tyrant, Breeder of the Emotion Eater]
What a disheartening little tidbit that was. He had hoped to get rid of the Brood after killing that damn Tyrant, only to find out that it was just one among many. He had already suspected that the Emotion Eater had to be a Fallen at least, but he had still dared to hope.
Hoping was an act of foolishness, and as usual, he had proven himself a fool.
Since then, he had found a few more during his travels, though he had only managed to kill two of them.
Until now, that was. There had been no less than ten of them in the chasm, all of whom were endlessly birthing more and more of the vile Brood. The sight from the elevated height of the mountain made it look like he was staring at an ant hive—a very ugly and disgusting one.
While planning a way to traverse through the chasm without being forced to battle the Tyrants and their offspring—"They are just Awakened Tyrants," a voice that sounded suspiciously like a person he refused to think about said in his mind—he had caught sight of a terrifying view.
Further beyond the chasm, there was another mountain, though calling it a mountain had to be the biggest euphemism he had ever made. The towering pillar of black stone had to be twice as tall as the Crimson Spire, although its span was only a little wider, which made it look like a spear aimed at the heavens. What was so terrifying was the fact that it was almost cut in half, held together by practically nothing. It hadn't been the first time he'd seen such a sight; the Tears was filled with more of those terrifying cuts, a reminder of the cataclysmic fight that had taken place on it. It was, however, the most horrifying example of it.
When an idea came to mind, he switched his sight to the one granted by [Endbringer]. Sure enough, coming out of the mountain, there was a massive String of Life—the name he had given to the shadowy tendrils, named as such after one of the stories told by the same person he didn't want to think about—and it was so dark that it almost looked like a black hole.
As befitting of the decree made by the Shadow God, everything had a String of Life. Not even inanimate objects were spared from the decree, which, of course, included stone. The idea that came to mind was as crazy as it was brilliant.
What followed were three tense days in which he had to approach the cyclopean mountain while avoiding detection from the horde of Nightmare Creatures. He had been close to being caught more times than he was willing to admit, but thankfully, he had managed to kill the ones that had spotted him before they could alert the rest of the swarm.
Once he reached the mountain, he took hold of the String of Life, and as expected, it had been utterly easy. During his testing, he had found that the bigger the string, the easier it was to grab and even move around. If he wasn't wrong, the size translated to just how dire the state of what he was targeting was. And the mountain was barely holding itself together. In fact, it would have probably crumbled on its own in just a few more months.
Then, it became a simple matter of getting as far away as possible from the mountain while still being able to hold the String. Upon reaching the limit, he started channelling essence into it. It was as simple as it was tedious; as precarious as the state of the mountain was, it was still massive, and it would take an enormous amount of effort to bring down. Almost a week later, his job was done—his attribute had weakened the structure of the mountain enough for gravity to do the rest.
And now, he was seeing the result of his actions. The massive chasm had disappeared, completely filled by the rocks falling into it, and no living nightmare creature remained, their bodies strewn across the chasm. A few of them had almost managed to escape, but in the end, the landslide had been far too big to avoid. What little remained of them was almost enough to make him puke. Just a year ago, he would have.
Oh well, his plan had succeeded, so everything was fine.
"How many can say that there is a mountain in the list of things they killed?" he asked himself, chin raised proudly as he gazed upon his shadows.
The Haughty new guy seemed to take it as a challenge, as it raised its own chin in an even more arrogant gesture. Gloomy facepalmed, exasperated by his actions, while Creepy seemed delighted at the sight of the ghastly remains of the Brood. At least the Happy guy was cheering for him.
A pale smile appeared on his face, so small and fleeting as to almost be invisible. The antics of his Happy shadow were the only thing that managed to lighten his mood nowadays. He only wished to stay a little more, to bask in his success—in the sliver of hope that appeared in his heart after managing to achieve such a victory—though he was quite annoyed at not receiving any memory for his efforts—to just… be. Be without stress, without fear, without any more pain.
Sadly, he knew the truth.
The moment of peace wouldn't last. The landslide had produced far too much noise to not attract the attention of more Nightmare Creatures. He couldn't afford to stay another second; more creatures would come soon, dragging along with them more blood, more fighting, more pain—always more.
There was no rest for the wicked, after all, and who was more wicked than the greatest of sinners?
-------------------------------------------
A claw met his bare hand, only to leave nothing but a small scratch on it. He almost smiled—losing his best armour was worth it after all.
He had almost had a heart attack when the spell announced the destruction of the [Underworld Mantle] after he bound it. He shouldn't have worried; the result was far better than he could have ever hoped it to be.
Now, his skin was as durable as the [Puppeteer's Shroud], and he could still call on the actual armor if he needed. Even better, he could also wear the shroud, which meant that he could benefit from double the protection without any cost. While on its own it didn't look that impressive, it was when considering another fact.
Up to now, he had to spend almost all of his essence on keeping the Mantle as light as possible so as to be able to fight while wearing it, leaving nothing but a trickle to be used on enhancing his body. Now, he was almost as durable when combining his new skin and the Shroud, and he still had all of his essence to use as he saw fit while fighting.
Even better, the dumbfounded expression made by the awakened demon he was fighting was the most beautiful thing he had seen in half a year. A creepy laugh almost erupted out of him; this was going to be great. Even Saint liked it, and whose opinion could he trust more than hers?
Another claw attack that left far more than a scratch reminded him that arrogance was a bad thing to have when fighting something a full rank above you. Oh well, he couldn't have it all. He was handsome, rich, and smart—he could afford to have some small and inconsequential defects. He was awesome like that.
Reminded once more of his hate for the Brood's poison, he stopped testing his newfound durability and instead focused on ending the fight. Saint had already killed a dozen of the Brood, and he refused to allow her to leave him in the dust.
He evaded the claw that was aiming for his left shoulder and performed an ascending slash that saw the head of his opponent cut in half. Paying no attention to the voice of the spell, he moved on to the next creature.
"…"
Why was the command showing its ugly head? There weren't that many enemies—twenty-five if he counted correctly—and the strongest of them was an Awakened Tyrant who had already been mortally wounded by Saint. She alone could deal with all of them without being supported by his shadows, and she currently had two of them.
He dismissed its warning and approached his next opponent, an awakened devil that was capable of stretching its limbs like they were rubber. A lightning-fast claw came for his head, only to be met by his tachi, their clash producing a rain of sparks that slightly illuminated their surroundings. He could swear that he saw a hazy figure in the distance but dismissed the idea.
He would see it coming if there truly was something out there.
He kept clashing with the devil. It was annoyingly hard to pin down, the range conferred by its stretching and the speed at which it could do so making it almost impossible to defeat. Almost.
When another claw came for him, he stepped to the side and, reinforcing his hand with as much essence as he could, grabbed it—locking it into place long enough to slash with the [Midnight Shard], augmented by his two shadows. The screech of pain produced by the devil upon losing one of its claws was the sweetest thing he had ever heard.
And he wanted to hear it more—for the rest of his life even. He wanted to bathe in its blood, in the blood of all of those who had wronged him, to hear their anguished screams, their desperate pleading for mercy. He wouldn't grant it. He would grant it to no one, least of all to her…
He realized that his head was pounding, a terrible headache taking shape—so painful that it almost made him blind.
"Survive."
He heard it louder, but it wasn't the command that hurt him so much. What was the source of the pain? He dismissed the thought once more; the source wasn't important—only killing the bastard in front of him was.
The devil was flagging, the blood loss making it weak, oh so weak. He could see its String of Life growing larger, darker—just a little more and he could use it to end the fight. Any sooner and he would waste all of his essence, and there were still more enemies to be fought. He only regretted how painless it was to be killed by [Endbringer]; he wanted the bastard to suffer.
He wanted everything to suffer, to suffer just as much as he did. When he escaped the Nightmare Realm, he would set the world aflame. It was only right—the damn thing had always hated him, always hurt him, always made him feel afraid, hungry, pathetic, weak. He was only going to repay the favor. He was going to repay all of the favors. Starting with…
"SURvive."
The headache had become blinding, so much so that he had to detach one of his shadows just to see what surrounded him. The sight surprised him.
Saint was fighting what looked like a Fallen beast—one that did not belong to the Brood. In fact, the Brood was fighting too; another tribe of Nightmare Creatures had finally shown itself.
They looked humanoid too, although no one would actually confuse them with a human being. They were tall—twice as tall as the tallest human being he had ever seen—spindly, emaciated even. With pink skin that seemed sickly, almost flaking off their own bodies, and long limbs that ended in cruel-looking hooks. Though if there was a feature that shone above them all, it was their face.
At first glance, it could be considered human—they had a mouth, a nose, and two eyes of human proportions, which was very unsettling considering their inhuman height and length. What wasn't human, however, was the way their mouth was split in half, with rows and rows of fangs coming out of it.
He pondered if he should focus on the newfound enemy but dismissed the thought. He hated the Brood far more. In fact, he wouldn't even mind dying as long as he could kill all of them before he did.
He dived again into the fight. An awakened monster fell to his blade, another one fell soon after, and another, and another. He laughed deliriously. He was having so much fun! He didn't even care about the pain assaulting his mind, about the blood flowing out of his nose.
He wanted to fight more, and more, and more—more more more moremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoreMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMORE!
He didn't have enough. He could never have enough of this!
A claw tore into his chest, but he laughed—it had missed his heart and lungs by mere millimetres. He pummeled the damn creature with his fists in retaliation, the crunch of its dying body a symphony of unmatched beauty.
How glorious, how divine—had he ever been as alive? As happy? As fulfilled as he was now?
Of course he hadn't been. He had always been a pathetic little cockroach who could do nothing but survive.
But who was better at surviving than him? No one, that was obvious.
Who would need to be better than him at that? Only he was stupid enough to keep diving into the risks that he did.
And wasn't it delightful when he managed to beat the odds and overcome the risks he was facing?
He was stupid, he was smart, he was foolish, his cunning was unmatched, he couldn't compare to the beauty of the legacies, the legacies couldn't compare to his roguish charms, he was alone, he had always been—so who cared? He was…
For the first time, Sunny thanked the Brood. The storm of emotions caused by their poison had managed to snap him out of the mind hex. He did not thank them for the hole in his chest, however.
It could wait. The battle was not over, and his situation was dire. Almost none of the Brood remained while there were plenty of the other tribe. At least Saint was fine, though the same couldn't be said of her armor, which was covered in cracks and tears.
He had to escape, now. He turned around to run, but before he could, the headache increased twofold—and his wrath with it. How could he run? How could he retreat from someone who had dared to hurt him so much?
They had to pay, they had to suffer, they had to die—the mere fact that they kept breathing was an unforgivable insult.
He switched directions immediately and dived into the fight once more. The first of his opponents fell under his blade with ease.
[You have slain an Awakened Beast, Herald of Wrath]
[Your shadow grows stronger]
He heard the spell but did not care for what it had to say. It, too, would pay one day for dropping him in this hell, but right now, he only had eyes for the Heralds.
A hook tore into his right arm, drawing a jagged wound across it—the pain was maddening. Maddening enough to wake him up, even if for a second, from the hex.
It wouldn't last. Not even the poison had managed to keep him conscious. He only had one second—one second to think, one second to come up with a solution. The answer came instantly.
He wished it hadn't.
What had woken him up was the storm of emotions produced by the poison, the mood swings so jarring that he had managed to escape the hex.
So there was only one method available to produce something similar—no, something even stronger. He almost wished he had not realized it; the mere idea of owing his life to anyone—least of all to her—as indirectly as it was, repulsed him. But beggars could not be choosers. So he pulled up his runes and scrolled down until only one thing could be seen. He kept them there, willing the runes to stay in his view without dissipating.
[Master: Changing Star]
The pain hit instantly—not the physical kind, but emotional, and all the more terrible for it.
He hated her. She was the reason he was here, the reason he was alone, the reason he hadn't been able to return to the waking world, to his sister, to a life that had only just started to improve.
He hated her. He hated her. He hated her.
He loved her—madly, irrationally. She was the reason he had lived long enough to reach the Dark City, the reason he was strong enough to survive even now, the reason he hadn't given up even after months of nothing but pain and loneliness.
He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.
He hated her. He loved her.
He loved her. He hated her.
Gods… he was so pathetic.
But pathetic or not, it worked. He disengaged from his current opponent and started running, the pain and rage assaulting him once more, but he managed to resist it.
Whenever he felt like he was about to fall back into the haze of wrath, it only took a glance toward the runes to regain clarity.
He ran—ran harder than he ever had. When the unnatural wrath started receding, he dismissed Saint and empowered himself further with the returning shadows and ran even faster. He only stared back once—he stared at the Devil that he was sure was the source of the mind hex with murder in his eyes.
"I'm going to come back, you bastard, and when I do, you'll rue the day you dared to even gaze at me."
The devil, as if understanding his words, clicked its fangs mockingly, almost inviting him to try.
So the devil was smart? Good. He wanted it to understand just how big of a mistake it had made when it angered a far more terrible monster than it could ever be.